


Bad Tea and Good Company

by plentyofmalk



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 14:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7848880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plentyofmalk/pseuds/plentyofmalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An hour. He just wanted one hour of peace and quiet to work out the newest and most pressing mechanical issue on his latest project. Unfortunately, he also wanted wifi, and since the service had been inexplicably out in his building, he’d decided that settling for <i>relative</i> peace and quiet at the nearest coffee shop was good enough. Luckily, Fitz thought to himself, he had an innate ability to put off most people around him, so he was sure that he would at least be left alone to drown in his own frustration without anyone asking <i>‘is this seat taken?’</i> or some other socially acceptable drivel that would interrupt his thought process.</p>
<p>“Excuse me.”</p>
<p>Or not.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>A story about love, and a stolen hot beverage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Tea and Good Company

An hour. He just wanted one hour of peace and quiet to work out the newest and most pressing mechanical issue on his latest project. Unfortunately, he also wanted wifi, and since the service had been inexplicably out in his building, he’d decided that settling for _relative_ peace and quiet at the nearest coffee shop was good enough. Luckily, Fitz thought to himself, he had an innate ability to put off most people around him, so he was sure that he would at least be left alone to drown in his own frustration without anyone asking _‘is this seat taken?’_ or some other socially acceptable drivel that would interrupt his thought process.

“Excuse me.”

Or not.

“Excuse me, but I think I might have your coffee?”

A woman’s voice, perky and distinctively British, begged his attention. And as intrigued as he was to hear a familiar accent all the way in a coffee shop in New York, he simply didn’t have the time. Typically when others noticed they had that in common, they wanted to reminisce about _home_ and ask the usual _‘what brings you all the way across the pond?’_. But every question he was forced to answer kept him distracted from his work that much longer, and he was expected to show up to the lab tomorrow with these problems figured out.

Still, she was never going to leave him alone if he didn’t correct her. He let his eyes break away from his screen long enough to grab his drink as proof. “I don’t think so. I didn’t order coffee, I have tea. And my name’s right-”

And that’s when he noticed his tea -- the same flavorless generic blend he’d ordered and expected -- was in a paper cup labelled...

“Jemma.”

“That’s me.” 

Finally, Fitz turned to put a face to the voice (and the name), figuring he at least owed the woman an apology. Fortunately he had enough small bills in his wallet to offer her so that she could buy herself another cup, meaning his mistake at least wouldn’t cause him to have to get up and pay for another one with his card. Because then he might have to make small talk and small talk wasn’t--

And that’s when his brain stopped processing thought, because Jemma and her voice -- _I wonder if she misses home,_ he thought, _I should ask what brings her all the way across the pond.._ \-- belonged to a woman in dark jeans and a sensible light blue sweater. Although the three-quarter sleeves and high crew neck may have given the illusion of modesty, it clung to her in a way still showed off her shape. Which was good, Fitz decided. _A very good shape._ Following the brown curls that fell past her shoulders led him to a set of similarly brown eyes, wide and unblinking, paired with a slight grin.

Wait, how long had he been staring? Did he literally just look her up and down as obviously as it felt like in his head? Oh god, he was a creep. This girl was never going to give him the time of day now, he might as well leave the money on the table and make a break for it. He--

“Fitz?” She asked, tentatively. When his name registered, he nodded, but then looked at her, confused.

“How did you know my name?”

She shrugged. “Lucky guess. You look like a ‘Fitz’.”

It must’ve been obvious by the look on his face that he hadn’t quite caught up to her yet ( _What’s the pendant on her necklace supposed to be? Oh god, don’t stare_ there _, you lecher!_ ) because her casual demeanor turned to amusement as she continued.

“I’m kidding, of course. See?” She held the cup in her hand so that his name written across was was visible to him. He could practically feel the pink tinge growing on his cheeks because _obviously_ she didn’t just guess his name out of the blue like that. “I saw the barista set several cups out at the same time, and things got shuffled around from there. I was actually hoping it was you that took it, because I wasn’t looking forward to asking _him_ , over there.” She gestured behind her with a flick of her head, to a conventionally handsome guy who looked conventionally arrogant to match. “It was bad enough that I had to put up with him waiting in line behind me, talking about how he could show me around sometime like I can’t figure out a new city by myself.”

She rolled her eyes, while Fitz pondered how he could manage to offer the same services without earning the same disdain.

“I’m sorry,” he offered, “I’d be happy to buy you another?”

She waved him off. “No need, since it seems like we both ordered the only tea on the menu. I’m perfectly content to drink yours.”

Fitz tried to give her fair warning as she went to take her first sip. “Just know that it’s pretty--”

“--Awful!” She bit out, eyeing the cup like it had betrayed her. “Is it always like this around here?”

“‘Fraid so,” he said, “I wish I could give cut them some slack since it’s not their specialty..”

“But they shouldn’t off anything on the menu if they can’t make it proper.” She took the words right out of this mouth, but Fitz was lucky enough to catch himself before he stared at her, open-mouthed, for too long. In a move bolder that he would have ever thought himself capable, he gestured to the empty seat across from his own. He was surprised that she she took the invitation so willingly, looking almost relieved, if Fitz allowed himself to really think about it.

“Just moved here, then, I take it?”

“Mmm,” she nodded, swallowing down another sip and looking a little more accustomed to the taste, “and this is giving me some pretty compelling motivation to get all of my kitchen boxes unloaded by tonight. You?”

“Me, what?”

“How long have you been here?”

“Ah! A little over a year.” He closed the laptop between them so as to be polite, or see her better, or whatever. “Moved here for work.”

“And where’s that?”

“Oh, uh.. Stark Industries.”

She stared at him, eyes as round as saucers and mouth open incredulously. _Here is comes,_ he thought dejectedly, _another person wanting Tony Stark’s autograph. Like I have signed headshots on me at all times…_

“Stark Industries! Fitz, that’s incredible!”

He rubbed the back of his neck, awaiting the inevitable. “Yeah, I know...”

“I was going to apply, but they don’t seem to have any openings that meet my qualifications, so I’m here for SciOps instead. I interview with them tomorrow morning, in fact. What department are you in at Stark?”

Wait, what?

“R&D, and engineering. Mechanical engineering. I’m, uh, I’m an engineer.” He finished lamely. _Of course that would make you an engineer, idiot. She certainly knows now that you didn’t study communications._

Jemma seemed unfazed. Correction, she seemed fazed in the best way. “Fascinating! I’ve actually been looking for an engineer’s opinion on a couple projects of mine. My PhDs are for Biochemistry, so although I understand the engineering basics, my knowledge is fairly rudimentary compared to someone like you, I’m sure.”

Fitz found himself nodding, dumbly, trying to process everything.

Not asking for Stark’s address, good.

Not turned off by his intimidating title, good.

Beautiful (not important but, you know...good). 

Smart in her own right, wait--

“PhDs?” He asked, his voice cracking on the upward inflection.

She nodded, humble but not ashamed when she provided her response. “I was a very curious seventeen year old.”

They talked like that for an hour, ignorant of the sun setting beside them and the various looks they received from barista and customer alike for taking up valuable cafe space while they let their drinks to cool, untouched. He explained how he was somewhat of a ‘child prodigy’ too, rolling his eyes even as he said it. They both related to the shock of entering university at such a young age, so far ahead of everyone else, and about growing up back home. She had two parents and an old family cat, while he grew up with only his mom and the promise of a pet of his choosing, as soon as he could keep his bedroom floor clear of laundry and schematics for a month (he never got a pet). They talked about Scotland, and he nodded along while she reminisced about a family vacation that took her through Perthshire when she was young, and how lovely she found all it had to offer.

He was finishing a story about last year’s company Christmas party, that she seemed to be listening to and laughing along with diligently. In explaining a moment with his hands, he found the tips of his fingers brushing along her knuckles. It seemed to shock him out of the moment, and he chose to clear his throat and look down at the long forgotten teas in front of them rather than risk embarrassing himself more.

“So Fitz,” Jemma sighed, mercifully not bring up the contact but sounding resigned to the answer she assumed he would give, “as a fellow countryman, is there really no better place to get a proper cup of tea in the whole city?”

“Actually, there is.” She seemed to perk up immediately, and he felt himself puffing out his chest with satisfaction that he could brighten her spirits. “It’s only a couple blocks away from here, if you live close by. They even make their own scones which aren’t a dry crumpled mess like...” He gestured to the puny baked goods display behind him.

“That sounds heavenly.”

He was working on it. Really, he was about to suggest he show her sometime, as friends (were they friends?) who were only looking out for each other, with definitely no other intentions at all (unless she had intentions in which case he was _very much_ okay with that). But before he could say anything, she cut off his inner pep-talk.

“What brings you here, then, if it’s only a couple blocks away?”

And that was when reality set back in, and he looked to the laptop in front of him, realizing he’d just had the best hour of his day and, as a result, had gotten nothing done.

“Oh,” he tried to skirt around the subject. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel bad for distracting him. “They, uh, their wifi is employees only, and I needed to work through this project that’s due tomorrow morning…”

Try as he might, there was no way around it, and he felt bad the second she brought her hand up to her chest in sympathy. “Oh dear, I’ve gone right ahead and distracted you, haven’t I? No wonder you were so brusque with me earlier?”

He scoffed. “I would hardly say I was _‘brusque’_.”

“Agree to disagree, then.” Although the way she raised one eyebrow at him told him he was definitely wrong on that front.

“It’s fine, really.” As he said it, a yawn broke through and he realized how drained he was. But he didn’t want the conversation to end-- not before he figured out how to secure that they would see each other again. So he persisted. “All I need is something large and caffeinated and I’ll be right as rain to work through the night if I need to.”

He got up then, motioning toward the dwindling line at the counter. “Would you like anything? I promise not to steal yours this time.”

Jemma smiled appreciatively, but shook her head. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Be right back, then.”

Despite the short line, it still took him several minutes to order due to a rather inept string of customers in front of him. He’d looked over briefly once (twice) to find Jemma fiddling with a napkin in front of her, but tried not to look over too much and risk her catching him staring. 

He grabbed his new drink with a sigh, making sure to check the name on the cup before heading back over to the table where she sat.

Sat, as in past tense, because both she, and her drink, were gone. Fitz kicked himself for his timing, for his lack of courage to just bloody ask her out when he had the chance, and for not looking back more. Maybe then he would have seen her start to get up and could have stopped her. But then again, if she was so quick to slip out when he wasn’t looking, maybe he’d misread the entire situation. Maybe their conversation hadn’t flowed as easily as it felt on his end. She was probably miserable the whole time, listening to him blither on about the lab and god knows what else. And then with the accidental hand brushing _who in their right mind would believe_ that _was an accident_ , Fitz thought with a grimace.

Just as he was sitting down, resigned to his missed chance, he noticed the same napkin Jemma had been playing around with was laying neatly on top of his computer. On further inspection, he noticed a message written on it with what must’ve been her curly penmanship.

_Fitz,_

_Didn’t want to keep you, and I know you would have probably convinced me to stay.  
Wish me luck on my interview tomorrow?_

_\- Jemma_

Below the message, she’d left her phone number.

Fitz was dreaming, that’s all there was to it. He had fallen asleep on his laptop and was experiencing a wonderful dream where pretty girls took an interest in his work and left their number on their own accord and actually asked him to contact them. To be sure it was real, he quickly pulled out his phone and texted the number she provided.

_**Fitz:** Don’t you know it’s not polite to leave someone a fake number? I could be waking someone’s granny from a peaceful slumber right now._

He waited on baited breath, but the phone buzzed back almost immediately.

_**Jemma:** Very funny. I’ll have you know I don’t normally give complete strangers my contact information. But since I know where your mother lives, I assume I can track her down if I ever need to tell her you abused my trust._

_**Fitz:** Pretty confident you can track down someone in all of Glasgow, are you?_

_**Jemma:** Never underestimate me, Fitz!_

_Oh_ , he thought to himself in disbelief rather than text her, _I would never._ And with one final message of good luck from her end, he reluctantly put the phone back down and went to work.

____________________________

Fitz woke the next morning, tired from being up even later than normal the night before. At half past 11pm, he finally made a breakthrough on his dilemma, and spent the next hour or so working through the problem until it was resolved. Even still, he set his alarm a little earlier than necessary to get to work at his usual time. He knew that Jemma’s interview was around the same time he would be walking into the office, and wanted to be able to wish her luck far enough in advance that he didn’t throw her off (if anything was capable of throwing her off -- she seemed very confident in herself last night).

He texted her well wishes on his walk to work, and probably looked like a right prat smiling down at his phone while waiting at the crosswalk when she responded back with _’Thank you!’_ and another message asking about his project. Even through text, she seemed perkier at this hour of the morning than he could manage to be at his most energetic. They texted throughout the day, about the highs and lows of the interview (including their shared hatred of the ‘small talk’ portion), which Chinese restaurant had the speediest delivery time, and a fascinating retelling of some Stark groupie that had to be escorted out of the lobby that day.

It went on like that the next day, and the one after that. Sometimes she started the thread that morning, or he initiated the ‘good nights’ in the evening, but the conversation seemed to flow the same in any case. When she grew increasingly frustrated by the lack of response from SciOps, he’d try to cheer her up by telling her how he’d tripped on the curb that morning, or anything to take her mind off of things. Every day, he grew a little bolder, although he still hadn’t managed to ask to see her again.

He didn’t even know what was stopping him, really. God knows he enjoyed talking to her, and she obviously enjoyed talking with him. Why wouldn’t she? Maybe he wasn’t 6’2” and bursting with muscles, but he was taller than her, at least! And exercise made him miserable, free work-provided gym membership or no, so how pleasant would it be to be around him anyways if he subjected himself to that? Fitz was, he could safely say, relatively acceptable in brawn and thoroughly impressive in brains, and that was (probably) enough!

It was his very impressive brain that was currently going into overdrive every time time his phone buzzed in his pocket while out with Hunter, who insisted on going out to say cheers to the work week behind them. Fitz hadn’t mentioned Jemma to anyone yet, and wasn’t even sure how to bring it up to his friend. _‘I stole her drink, you see? But as it turns out she’s magnificent and smart and no I haven’t seen her since that first time but we make great pen pals just look at how often we talk **I promise you she’s real**.’_ Even _he_ knew it sounded far-fetched.

Except Hunter had gone up to get another round when his phone vibrated again, so Fitz took the opportunity to sneak a look.

_**Jemma:** Remind me to never trust anyone to help me move ever again, please?_

_**Fitz:** Why? Did they pinch something off of you?_

_**Jemma:** Worse, they mislabeled just about every box I tasked them with packing. Daisy’s wonderful, but I should have known better._

_**Jemma:** So far I’ve dug through boxes marked ‘booze’, ‘not booze’, ‘Simmons, you have too many books’ and, my personal favorite, ‘knives???’_

_**Fitz:** Well?_

_**Jemma:** Well, what?_

_**Fitz:** Were they knives or not? Curious minds want to know!_

_**Jemma:** Just some extra lab equipment. Although it did have scalpels inside._

_**Jemma:** Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ve earned something from the ‘booze’ box._

“You know I’ve been here for over a minute, right?”

“Jesus, Hunter!” Fitz jumped, hands clanging on the table with a dull _thwack_ , causing Hunter to steady their drinks as the surface rocked. “Don’t scare someone like that!”

“By talking at a normal volume, yeah I’ll try to be better about that kind of thing. Besides, I should be offended. Am I so dull you’ve got to cheat on me with another friend when I’m sitting right here?” He took a big slug of his pint, clearly not caring if that was the case.

“What? Other friends? No, no, I don’t, uh.. It’s nothing.”

“You’re a piss poor liar, mate, but now I’m curious. Who’s the mystery person?” When Fitz didn’t answer, Hunter reached for his phone, easily snatching it out of his hands. “Alright, what’ve we got here…”

“Hey! You can’t just take that!” He squeaked out, indignantly.

Hunter waved the phone out of his reach. “Just did, though.”

Fitz found himself growing more self conscious the longer Hunter remained silent, until--

“Leopold Archibald Fitz--”

“--Don’t call- _‘Archibald’_? That’s not even my middle name--”

“--You have a lady friend!”

“--No! It’s not like that. Look, she’s a girl I met this week, and…” He trailed off because… _and what_?

“A girl, I see. And is this girl your… friend? Like a girlfr--”

“Fine, I like her, okay? But she’s not my girlfriend.” Fitz shifted on his stool, having grown increasingly uncomfortable with every swipe of Hunter’s thumb across the screen. Did the bar get really hot all of a sudden? He nervously pounded down a good portion of his drink trying to calm himself.

Finally, he pushed the phone back over, and Fitz quickly stuffed it back into his pocket, determined to not look at it for the rest of the night.

“First of all,” Hunter said, “I want to smack the both of you for your perfect spelling and grammar. You’re like two walking dictionaries with a chip on your shoulder. But aside from that, she seems nice.”

They both took another drink.

“You wanna… talk about it?”

And so, he did.

____________________________

Fitz arrived home some time -- and a few more rounds -- later, when his phone buzzed with another message from Jemma. Only this time, the text was preceded by a picture. Nothing scandalous (Which he absolutely didn’t think it was when it caught him off guard. Not that he wanted that. At all. Definitely not.) Instead, it was a picture her hand carefully resting a mug of tea on her pajama-clad knee, offset by a looming set of half-opened boxes in the background.

_**Jemma:** Victory!_

He began to text her back, the words forming a little too easily from the beers Hunter had insisted on if, quote, _‘you’re ever going to see this bird again.’_ Halfway through, he realized buzzed was likely not the best way to go about asking if he could see what the rest of her pajamas looked like in person, as it were. He erased the message, racking his brain for something clever to say without actually saying anything on his mind at all. But as his head hit the pillow and the alcohol took effect, he ended up falling asleep with the phone in his hand before he could actually come up with anything.

Throughout the rest of the weekend, Fitz received plenty of messages _about_ Jemma, from Hunter, but none from Jemma herself. Her radio silence only made Fitz more aware of how idiotic a late-night confession of his attraction for her almost was. But as Sunday bled into Monday and the week began again, he was grateful that he could at least distract himself with work. In fact, he didn’t even check his phone until he left for lunch, and was surprised to see a missed call from her, timestamped only a couple of minutes prior.

Self-consciousness forgotten, he quickly dialed her back.

“I thought you might have been ignoring me,” Jemma said as she picked up, clearly not serious if the amusement in her voice was any indication. It was technically only the second time they’d spoken, texts aside, and Fitz was shocked at how comforting her voice was.

_‘You’re all soft on this girl, aren’t you?’_ Hunter had asked, wiping a fake tear from his eye. _‘Is it possible my little Fitz is growing up and falling in love?”_

“Yeah, well, some of us have a job to go to, you know.” He teased her back. Instantly he realized how smarmy he probably sounded and was about to apologize when she eased his concern.

“Oh right, you work for Tony Stark, I forgot since you’ve never brought it up. And I’ve been plenty busy, I’ll have you know! Those boxes certainly weren’t going to unpack themselves.”

“Besides,” she added, “you never responded back. I thought maybe I had, I don’t know, made things weird? Sending you a picture and whatnot…”

Oh, crap. He’d fallen asleep before he could respond properly! Of course he saw how that must’ve looked from her perspective -- she probably thought she crossed a line and over-shared, and all he did was make things worse by not saying anything back. _Bloody, stupid--_

“I’m sorry! I was a little legless that night and I must’ve fallen asleep. Can you ever forgive me?” Fitz pleaded into the phone, sounding playful but only to cover up the real anxiety he felt at the thought that he might have actually led her to believe he didn’t want her to send him shots from every part of her day ~~and night~~.

“Hmm,” she pondered, “I suppose.”

He sighed with relief internally. “Thank you. Now, can I help you?”

She paused, her previous lightheartedness substituted for something more cautious. He listened on, nervously messing with his tie and curious what she had to say.

“Yes, actually.” She took a breath on the other end of the line. “Fitz, do you like me?”

Well, that was...not what he expected. He floundered trying to think of a response.

_‘I think we get on just fine, sure.’ ‘I suppose we’ve become friends.’ ‘I’ve considered entertaining the thought of asking you out.’ ‘I may have a crush on you.’ ‘I know it’s soon but I think I might be curious as to whose mattress is comfier. Probably yours, I haven’t bought a new mattress in ages. Would you like to go mattress shopping with me?’_

“I..uh… what was that?” Was all that came out, instead. Probably for the best. _Mattress shopping?!_

She sighed. “Okay, fine then. I like you. You’re nice and you’re effortless to talk to and quite frankly I don’t make friends this easily, let alone find myself attracted to someone so fast, but--”

“‘Attracted’?” Fitz asked, mouth suddenly very dry.

“Oh good, nice to know you can hear me.”

“Sorry Jemma, I meant--”

“Ugh, I’ve messed this whole thing up, haven’t I? Please just forget I said anything!”

“No, I--”

“--shouldn’t have assumed--”

“--Jemma, listen--”

“--if you’d still like to be friends, then--”

“ _Dinner!_ ” He finally managed to spit out.

There was silence on the other line, until-- “Fitz, it’s lunch time.”

“No no, yeah, I know but,” _here goes nothing_ , “yes. I like you. Um, quite a lot, actually. So please, don’t… don’t take that back, because I’d really like dinner. I mean, me and you. Someplace… nice.”

“Oh.” She breathed out.

Fitz squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his palm against them in frustration.

“I think that would be… yes. Dinner.” Granted, he’d only seen her face once, but he’d studied her mannerisms enough at the time that he could imagine the small smile on her face. Her eyes were probably closed, nodding to herself with one side of her mouth more upturned than the other.

“There’s just one thing.” Jemma added. His breath hitched while he waited for her to drop the caveat.

“Are you allowed to conspire with the Head of Special Projects a SciOps?”

“Jemma, you--”

“Yes! I just got the call this morning! I was so nervous because they always say to deliver good news on a Friday and bad news on Mondays and since it was Monday I figured… but that’s not important! It’s actually what I was calling to tell you about, but I think I was running on adrenaline because I literally _just_ got off the phone with them so I veered off in a completely different direction and--”

“Wait,” he interrupted, “I was the first call you made when you found out?”

“Of course.” She sounded a bit shy, catching her breath from her outburst earlier. “I wanted to share it with the person I knew would be the most excited with me.”

Well, damn if he wasn’t already completely taken with her…

“Yes!” He assured her. “We’ve got to celebrate. I’ll think of some options, and you just… enjoy your last days of freedom and tell me where to pick you up. Seven?”

She laughed. “It’s a date.”

____________________________

He arrived at her apartment ten minutes early. Hunter had warned against it, saying if he looked too eager he’d be giving her all the power, which seemed like exactly the kind of advice to expect from someone who referred to his own girlfriend as either ‘goddess’ and ‘hell beast’ depending on nothing more than the direction of the wind that day. He’d finally gotten fed up burning a hole in his living room rug waiting for the time to pass before he could finally see her again, and besides, he really didn’t care if it gave her all the power. Sounded fun, actually.

He bounced on the balls of his feet and smoothed out the stubborn wrinkle of his dark blue button up while waiting for her to answer. She looked just as relieved to see him when she opened the door, clad in a flowing white blouse, boots, and neatly pressed black jeans that fit her far too well. Fitz stole a quick look into her apartment in order to chastise her for the few boxes she still had to go through, to which she simply rolled her eyes and begged him on.

Dinner was at a small italian restaurant. Something safe. Cozy but not crowded, romantic but without any pressure. Just because they both knew this was a date didn’t mean he had any expectations, after all.

Hopes, dreams, sure. But not _expectations_.

Where he feared conversation would be stilted, it was not. The ease of which they spoke over text and at that cafe the first time they met flowed back easily, and any nervousness from speaking on the phone earlier was forgotten on the walk over. Jemma told him about her new position in depth, explaining how it essentially funded the projects she presented to them in her interview. She proposed, again, that she could really use an engineer’s hands at some of the finer details, which was a terrible choice of words because then all he could think about were _his_ hands on some of _her_ finer details and _they hadn’t even gotten through their first round of bread sticks yet_.

After dinner, Fitz proposed that they forgo dessert there in order to introduce her to the tea shop he’d told her about when they first met, which she happily agreed to. After two blocks, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Jemma’s hand slip inside his. Instead of admitting how much her touch affected him, he transitioned his jump into a shiver and commented that her fingers were freezing. She pushed him away with her free hand only to pull him back with the other. When she commented that it was actually his fault for not bringing a jacket to offer her ( _‘Don’t you know how these things work, Fitz?’_ ), he took a gamble and broke their clasp in order to wrap his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, looking just as pleased as he felt, and he thought perhaps she could hear his heart pounding in his chest with as close as she was.

Tea was much better the second time around. Fitz enjoyed watching her whole face light up at the sweets selection behind the counter, and at the first sip of hot liquid to hit her tongue. They did their best not to take too long, however, since they found themselves to be the only people there toward the end of business day. Jemma made small talk with the couple behind the counter, and by the time they were walking out the door, they had given her a to-go bag of various goodies that they wouldn’t be selling the next day. When he offered to carry them, she eyed him suspiciously, saying that she didn’t trust him, and tightened her grip even more.

He walked her home like the gentleman his mother had raised him to be, holding her hand and feeling irrationally giddy at the way she should sometimes swing them back and forth while waiting for the crosswalks. He escorted her up to her apartment, and didn’t let go until it became necessary so she could get her keys.

Jemma swung the door and turned to face him, paying a lot of attention to the bag in her hands. A slight uneasiness settled between them, and Fitz decided it was probably time to start the goodbye portion of the evening, as much as he didn’t want to.

He stuck his hands in his pocket to give them someplace to go, otherwise they would probably try to reach for her again. “I, uh, I had a really nice time tonight, Jemma.”

“Me, too.” She nodded, finally looking at him. She looked… _something_. Conflicted, maybe?

“I should get going. But I’d like to do this again. If you would, too, that is.”

“Yes, that sounds wonderful.” She breathed. When Jemma spoke again, she stood up a little straighter, and her eyes looked a little more clear. “Maybe for..breakfast?” She held up the bag to illustrate.

_Good, yes, she wants to do breakfast! Act natural, don’t make muck this up._

“Yeah, okay, sure. What time should I come over?”

She raised an eyebrow, and he felt something knot in his stomach.

“I was thinking now, and we could play the whole ‘breakfast’ thing by ear in the morning.”

_Don’t muck this up._

And then Fitz’s lips were on hers, hands grasping at her waist, earning him a sharp gasp. Jemma tasted like sugar and cream and if you had told him that it had nothing to do with the tea and everything to do with her, he probably would have believed it. She smiled into the kiss and swung her arms behind his neck, smacking the back of his head with the bag of treats. He was about to about to feign injury, and maybe protest about being assaulted (As _sugar_ ed? No, terrible.) but it seemed that Jemma already took notice by the way she laughed and ran her fingertips through his hair. When she lightly scratched down to the base of his skull, Fitz groaned, and then they were tugging each other back into the confines of her living room.

____________________________

The first tea had been awful, the second round had gone much better, but the third.. _well_.

The third was consumed on her couch the next morning, and it was accompanied by Jemma, clad in his undershirt and the pajama bottoms she’d worn in the picture she texted him several nights ago. It also came with lazy kisses and exploring fingertips and warmed over scones that were just as delicious the next day.

It was, Fitz decided, the best.

**Author's Note:**

> For Tashonix, who requested the prompt, "I think I picked up your coffee by mistake." Thanks for inspiring me to write my first AU!


End file.
